


you are the knife i turn inside myself

by selenedaydreams



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Italy nt, Juventus Turin, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-30 13:15:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11464347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/selenedaydreams/pseuds/selenedaydreams
Summary: There is no symbolism here. Nothing deep or grand or dramatic. Nothing poetic. It’s just him and Gigi kissing in an abandoned alley in Udine and for a moment, Leo actually convinces himself this doesn’t have to end.





	you are the knife i turn inside myself

**Author's Note:**

  * For [brampersandon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brampersandon/gifts).



> Title comes from a quote by Franz Kafka I found at two in the morning, an experience which in its entirety fits the aesthetic of this fic, in my personal opinion.

Cardiff is a blur of too many goals, missed opportunities, and the all too familiar bitter taste of failure.

It’s nothing new, no matter how much he wishes it were (but, of course, it just had to be another Spanish team), and when the dust settles and everything is said and done, Leo gives him the one thing that hurts him the most: space.

They have each other memorized. Each and every single idiosyncrasy, from the way Leo takes his coffee - classic espresso no matter when, where, or why - to the way Gigi bears losses with that particular brand of pride meant to silence the heart breaking inside his ribcage.

 

 

 

By now, Leo knows not to panic if Gigi doesn’t return his calls or if when he inevitably drops by his house, it looks as if no one’s been home in days. Clean and pristine and right out of a catalog. Still, it doesn’t mean he _doesn’t_ call. It just means that he remembers to presses delete each and every single time he makes a failed attempt at recording a semi-coherent voicemail.

This, losing, grieving, rebuilding yourself in the brief limbos of football, it’s become routine. Leo doesn’t leave. He indulges himself in Gigi’s lavish shower, stands under the scaling spray of water until he feels sufficiently absolved of his sins. Gigi’s bed feels too big and too empty but with his nose pressed against the pillow, he can almost pretend he’s not alone.

Sometimes, if he’s lucky, he wakes up with a pair of arms wrapped around his waist and a pair of lips pressing lazy, open-mouthed kisses to the nape of his neck. It’s exactly what Leo craves in these moments because crushing disappointment suddenly feels like a distant memory when Gigi sinks into him and fucks him into the mattress hard enough that the frame rattles and the headboard smacks against the wall in perfect sync with the rhythm of Gigi’s hips.

Sometimes he isn’t lucky, though. Sometimes he has to wake up alone, pack alone, and show up for national team duty alone.

 

 

 

They’re roomed together for the friendly against Uruguay and Leo can’t decide if that’s a blessing or a curse. Gigi hasn’t spoken to him once during training except for a polite nod of acknowledgment that feels almost insulting, everything considered.

Leo is patient though. He might be perpetually reckless or occasionally crass, but over the years, he’s learned to be patient. He runs his laps, passes the ball with perfect precision during all of his drills, and tries not to take it too personally when Gigi choose Daniele over him as his partner for cool down stretches.

In retrospect, it probably would have stung less if Gigi hadn’t looked at him and made eye contact before walking all the way over to the other end of the field to partner up with him.

 

 

 

This can’t last forever, Leo tells himself as a means of self-comfort. He’s fresh out of the shower, drops of water gliding down his back, as he rummages through Gigi’s luggage in search of something to wear to bed since the air conditioning in this hotel could put Moscow to shame.

“Leave it.” Leo hears from behind him as his fingers grasp the fabric of one of Gigi’s worn in training shirts.

He drops the shirt without a second thought in favor of crossing his arms over his chest as he turns to face him. It’s hard not to notice how tired Gigi looks. The kind bone-deep exhaustion that sleep alone could never possibly heal.

“What? You don’t share anymore?” Leo teases because he doesn’t know any other way to be. He’s not a man of many words. He doesn’t wax poetics about his teammates or send drawn out and heartfelt Whatsapp messages. He’s a man of action who’s only even known how to make someone feel better with open arms and pliant lips.

Gigi isn’t amused but Leo didn’t really expect him to be either and suddenly, it begins to feel a little like a standoff when neither of them moves. Both holding their stance at opposite ends of the cramped hotel room as if it matters. As if they have anything to prove each but it’s a matter of pride for Gigi, Leo realizes, so he plays right along.

“No,” Gigi says, and there’s a shift in his expression as he speaks, serious to something else, something softer that seeps into the air and coaxes Leo to relax. “I just prefer you without it.”

Leo’s lips curve into a fraction of a smile without really meaning before dropping his arms to his side. In these moments, he likes to believe. To think that it’s him that draws out this side of Gigi. That there’s something about his sheer presence that is a catalyst for the healing process.

Leo bridges the gap between them with careful steps until he’s close enough to breathe him in. Gigi doesn’t move, doesn’t step back, or sway in his direction. But soon enough, there are fingers carding through his hair, sliding down to cup his cheek, and Gigi is too tired to resists leaning into his touch.

Gigi doesn’t surrender. It’s not in his nature, and yet...

“Go shower.” It’s more command than suggestion and the only semblance of an answer that he gets is Gigi disentangling himself from Leo’s grasp and disappears into the bathroom behind him.

 

 

 

When the bathroom door opens again, the room is flooded in darkness with the moonlight peeking through the blinds as the only source of light. Still, it’s just enough for Leo to make out Gigi’s shape.

“Don't,” Leo mumbles, voice thick with sleep, as he watches Gigi walk past his bed and towards the other one by the window. “Come here.”

Leo lifts up his blanket with his right hand. A silent invitation. There’s a brief moment of hesitation that Leo chooses to ignore before Gigi is making his way back to him. Leo purposely scoots as far back towards the wall as possible, making Gigi’s choice for him on which side of him to lay on because he knows him. He knows what Gigi wants, what he _needs_ , without him having to voice it.

His arm wraps around Gigi in an instant, the other folded underneath Gigi’s head as a makeshift pillow. They’re back to chest, hips slotted together, and legs tangled without any extra maneuvering and eventually...Leo hears him heave out a sigh.

“I thought you’d become less stubborn as you got older,” Leo says, lips already trailing kisses along his jawline. “But you’ve only gotten worse.”

Gigi actually laughs, loud enough that Leo feels it reverberate against his chest. “Being stubborn keeps me young.”

“Yeah, but it ages me.” Still, Leo never stops kissing him. His lips only leave his skin for the brief moments it takes them to shape his words. They’re both clad in only their underwear and this truly is a blessing. Leo’s fingers are free to roam over his taut stomach and the wide expanses of his chest before they settle over his heart.

“And yet,” Gigi turns his head just enough to press a lingering kiss to the arm currently supporting his neck. “You’re still here.”

Leo doesn’t answer immediately but he keeps kissing him. Keeps pressing his lips against the same places over and over and over again like part of a ritual, like if he kisses Gigi a certain number of times and rubs his foot against his calf at just right angle, everything will be okay. “Shut up and sleep.”

 

 

 

It’s a mess against Uruguay but they win and that’s all that matters.

What doesn’t matter and what Leo doesn’t care to dwell on is the fact that every time he looks over his shoulder at the net he feels off-kilter. It’s not that Donnarumma isn’t good because he is. Still a little rough around the edges and with just a touch of too much bravado but good nevertheless.

May off-kilter is the wrong word though. Not strong enough for the way he shifts restlessly from one foot to another when the opposition approaches. Not accurate enough for the way his eyes automatically drift to the bench even when Donnarumma fumbles with the ball. But he’s sure as hell not going to admit that he’s scared because admitting that he’s scared also means admitting there’s _something_ to be scared off and at the current moment in time, Leo would rather live in blissful ignorance.

 

 

 

It’s somehow worse against Liechtenstein.

Logistically, practically, Leo understands not being in the line-up but that doesn’t mean he likes it. He’s never liked being on the bench and especially not now.

He trusts Andrea and Giorgio. That’s not the problem. Given the situation, he’d trust them with his life without a second thought. But they’re a team. They’re _his_ team. The BBBC. If Leo had it his way, it would always be the four of them.

But Leo doesn’t have it his way. He’s just a piece in the grand puzzle that is La Azzurra and has to settle for watching from the outskirts of the bench as his teammates score goal after goal without conceding even one and pretend it doesn’t sting when they cruise to victory without him.

 

 

 

They celebrate after their win.

Only a goal difference separates them from automatic qualification and after the heartbreak and misery of last year’s Euros, they all finally seem to feel at peace with themselves again.

Riccardo herds them into a nearby bar where Leo finds himself tucked between Gigi and Claudio as he orders them a round of beer. Gigi’s hand settles on his knee like it belongs there and if Claudio notices, he doesn’t mention it. By the time Leo’s halfway through his second beer, Gigi’s hand has already migrated past the midpoint of his thigh and it’s becoming increasingly more difficult to ignore.

“The hotel is just around the corner,” Claudio whispers in his ear, and to any other person it might sound like a general fact but Leo hears the hidden implication loud and clear:  _Not here_.

And that’s all it takes, really. All it takes for him to chug the rest of his beer, manners be damned, before he’s pulling Gigi up from his seat and out the door. Leo is nowhere near the realm of drunk but he’s buzzed just enough to push Gigi into a darkened alley and kiss him.

Gigi’s arms wrap around his waist automatically with practiced ease. “Leo,” He says, a warning, but doesn’t stop kissing him.

“Stop thinking and just kiss me.” Leo’s fingers are fisted in his shirt in a grip that’s just on the side of desperate but those are just details.

There is no symbolism here. Nothing deep or grand or dramatic. Nothing poetic. It’s just him and Gigi kissing in an abandoned alley in Udine and for a moment, Leo actually convinces himself this doesn’t have to end.

 

 

 

“Let me flip you over.” Gigi mouths against his throat, teeth grazing over his skin just hard enough to make him shudder and cling closer to him.

“No.” Leo breathes, harsh and low but with tremendous determination. He doesn’t want Gigi to flip them over because when he pushed him down on the edge of the bed and climbed into his lap, he did it for a reason.

He likes it this way. Gigi’s large hands gripping his thighs, spreading them wider as he sinks down onto him with deep and slow thrusts that make them both gasp. He wants this to last.

“You like being in control.” Gigi teases, and considering the way his grip tightens, Leo’s certain bruises will follow tomorrow morning.

Good. He wants bruises. He wants Gigi’s teeth sinking into the soft skin of his throat. He wants…

“I like watching you lose it,” Leo tells him between moans. “I like watching you say my name.”

“Leo,” Gigi says, almost as if interpreting Leo’s last sentence as a request. “Leo.” He says it again, forming the words against his skin as he kisses along his collarbone and the top of his sternum. “Leo.” It’s softer this time, whisper-like, followed by the forced stilling of his hips as Gigi tips his chin down to slot their lips together.

Except this, this is what Leo _doesn’t_ want. He doesn’t want soft and sweet and kind, he wants Gigi to fuck him hard enough that he’s the only thing he can think, breathe, or speak. He wants Gigi to fuck him until he’s clinging to him and sobbing his name.

“Stop.” He says as he breaks the kiss. “Don’t.” There’s an unspoken ‘please’ there but Leo’s not that desperate yet.

Gigi’s hands are cupping his face then, one thumb stroking along his cheekbone, preventing him from looking away. “I don’t want to hurt you.” He says, as if that’s actually possible, and Leo wants to laugh because the truth is that we all want things we can’t have. This isn’t a matter of _if_ , but a matter of _when_. Still, he knows that’s not what Gigi means. Leo is somewhere distant into the future, trying to predict the unpredictable, while Gigi is here. Right here and right now in this moment and maybe that’s where he should be too.

“You won’t,” Leo assures him, reaching up to cover the hands cupping his cheeks with his own. “I like it. I like knowing I’m yours.”

Gigi considers that for a moment and then turns his head just far enough to the right to kiss the inside of Leo’s wrist, lingering there for a moment for good measure. “And what about me? Am I yours?”

The question doesn’t immediately register. It replays in Leo’s mind. Once. Twice. He rolls his hips, taking Gigi in as deeply as possible, before slumping forward against him, burying his face against his throat.

Gigi’s arms move around him, encircling him, trapping him against his chest. “Leo…” He says, a gentle warning, demanding an answer that couldn’t possibly be any more obvious. But then again, maybe it isn’t. Maybe Gigi needs to hear it.

And this? Leo can give him this too.

“Always.”

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](http://ikercasiillas.tumblr.com) (if you so desire) screaming about approx. 1739 players and teams. Thank you for reading!


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